Misery- A New Entry to Fragments of Fiction

Here is the latest addition to Fragments of Fiction. It feels very rough and contrived so I may end up nuking it, but nonetheless you have a chance to read it and share your thoughts if you so choose.

Misery

“You donâ€™t understand what real misery is until you recognize that time will not heal your wounds. You donâ€™t have a clue about how much pain you can suffer until you have lost all faith that things can ever get better. And even then if you have any sort of fight at all in you your mind still does what it can to try and make you whole again.

But it just doesnâ€™t matter because it feels better not to feel. It doesnâ€™t matter because when you donâ€™t care about yourself or anything else you reach the point at which you are hollow. And for a person who is in pain that hollow point is a magnificent place to be.

I remember watching a movie in which the characters swore to live life. They wanted to do everything, try everything, experience life in the fullest sense of the expression. It was very dramatic and there was a climatic scene in which one of them made a speech about nursing on the very marrow of life.

The marrow of life. It makes me chuckle. What a crock. Just a couple of fools speaking about things that they do not understand. I suppose that it is only fair to say that I used to be one of those ignorant morons who didnâ€™t have enough common sense to realize that fairy tales are called fairy tales because they are fake.

The day after the incident with the valet I almost didnâ€™t bother to get out of bed. I suppose that I had a secret hope that I would wake up and find her waiting patiently for me. She wasnâ€™t there and neither was Georgie. The only thing that greeted me was the obsessive honking of my neighbor and a throbbing feeling that radiated throughout my entire body.

Outside the honking was replaced by the deep boom of bass emanating from a car. You would think that the experiences of the night before would have helped to teach me to think twice before acting, but that would be a lie. I was furious at the jerk who was playing his music so loudly. I jumped out of bed and screamed at him from the window.

It was useless. The booming noise prevented him from hearing my protest. This enraged me and without thinking I grabbed a baseball bat and was about to fly down the stairs when the hangover hit me. I didnâ€™t even have time to make it to the bathroom. I was sick everywhere and unable to stand. I must have passed out because I woke up with my face lying in my own vomit and so disoriented that it took me some time to recognize that I was home.

The trouble I had been searching for had found me and now I was being made to pay for it. A smarter and more mature man would have stumbled to the phone and called for help, but I was too proud. Not that it would have mattered, she was too angry to help. Had I even managed to call she wouldnâ€™t have responded.

The realization that she was too angry to want to help upset her in a way that she couldnâ€™t begin to explain. There had never been a time in which she had felt this way about him.It had never occurred to her that her love for him could be challenged this way and it shook her up.

For the first time she began to wonder if their relationship had run its course. She cried that day. It wasnâ€™t the first time that she had cried because of a disagreement with him, but it was the first time she had been afraid that the end was near.”

The Jack B. is a writer and author of 39 unpublished books and three screenplays. A former athlete and would be superhero he still fights for truth, justice and the American Way. Though he may look like a grown man, donâ€™t fool yourself he is still a boy at heart. When he is not engaged in Walter Mitty like fantasies he is a husband, father and friend and blogs at TheJackB.

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